How Fragile a Thing
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #28 The pon farr destroyed Lauren's love for Spock, and Spock no longer even trusts himself. But from the ruins of their broken marriage comes a new hope.
1. Chapter 1

Spock studied his aunt's kindly human face as the final portion of her message replayed on his computer screen.

"Spock, never mind the way T'Beth is acting. Deep

down, I believe it's only a sign of how much she

really does need you. Please don't give up on her,

or the idea of making a home for her. These are

difficult years for a girl, and considering everything

she's been through…"

With a sigh, Spock turned from the screen. Doris should not have needed to remind him of his promise to T'Beth. By now he should have arranged some way to give more attention to his daughter. He did not feel adequate for the task of handling the rebellious adolescent, but he had a responsibility to her. Every time he shipped out, she got into more trouble. T'Beth needed more than the warmth and understanding Aunt Doris provided. She needed a father who was willing and able to invest time in her, however unpleasant that time might prove—and in his case it was sure to be unpleasant.

No, things were not going well between him and T'Beth, but just now his relationship with his wife was even worse. It had been weeks since she left him, but he had not yet adjusted to life apart from her. Spock's eyes roamed the sterile first officer's quarters. Though Lauren's belongings were gone, memories of their brief marriage lingered everywhere. He sometimes imagined that he saw her, heard her voice, or even scented her gardenia perfume. Those rare occasions when he encountered Lauren were particularly painful. Being Vulcan, he was bound more tightly than her to the bond of their failed marriage, but he knew the situation was not easy on Lauren, either. She did not look well. Lately she had grown quite thin and pale, though he still found her beautiful and always would.

Steepling his fingers, he stared into the depressing emptiness of the cabin. His continuing efforts to wall off the pain were doomed to failure as long as he remained so near his wife, aboard the Enterprise. Since their marriage could not possibly be salvaged, a change of environment seemed the only logical answer. The time had come to leave the memories behind. The time had come to take his life—and T'Beth's—in a whole new direction.

oooo

Early the next week Spock entered the captain's office and stood before Kirk at attention. The captain looked up from his desk and noted the show of formality with rising eyebrows.

"Yes, Mister Spock?"

With a deep intake of breath, Spock stepped forward and handed Kirk a printed document. "Captain, I am submitting an official request for transfer off the Enterprise. Starfleet Academy has offered me a new teaching position."

Kirk glanced at the form, then rose, and was speechless for a moment. "…Spock," he said at last.

Spock dropped his gaze to the captain's desk. "I do so with reluctance," he admitted, "but there comes a time when parental obligations must take precedence. T'Beth needs me."

"Yes, but—" Kirk hesitated. "I can't help wondering how much this has to do with…with Lauren."

Spock's difficulties with his wife were a deeply personal matter. He was silent for a moment before turning the conversation back to his transfer. "I realize that you will need time to find a suitable replacement, but I would appreciate it if you would expedite the matter."

"Replacement?" Kirk gave a wan smile. "Spock, I'll find people to take over your duties, but never a _replacement_. You know how much I depend on you…and on your friendship."

Spock looked at the charismatic captain and experienced a deep stab of regret. "I, too, shall miss your companionship," he conceded, "but I must first of all consider T'Beth."

Kirk frowned. "Yes. The possibility did come up at your wedding reception, but I was hoping…" His voice trailed off, as if acknowledging the painful logic of Spock's decision. "I understand. Your daughter _does_ need you; she'll be completely grown before you know it."

Spock was relieved at how easily Jim accepted the situation. He had come prepared for an argument. Suddenly, he did not know what more to say.

Kirk broke the silence. "So, it's back to teaching?"

"For now."

Kirk came around the desk and faced him with a peculiar sheepish look. Spock had the uneasy feeling that the captain might reach out and try to embrace him, as he had aboard the Klingon fighter after Sybok's death. Instead Kirk said, "I'm afraid I have one last favor to ask of you. And under the circumstances, it's asking a lot."

"Yes, Captain?"

It was obvious that Kirk was most reluctant to speak. But finally he said, "There's a galactic medical conference coming up at Memory Alpha. Doctor Fielding has been invited to give a presentation on her research into Vulcan plakir-fee. And they want you there, too."

Spock went rigid. "Me?"

"As the sole survivor of third level plakir-fee."

Spock found the thought of sharing a stage with his estranged wife daunting enough, but any discussion of his cure might also include a foray into his subsequent drug dependence. "Jim," he said emphatically, "I have no wish to be paraded and gawked at."

Kirk shook his head. "Oh, it'll be nothing like that, Spock. These are the finest medical minds in the Federation. They'll probably just ask you a few questions…and Doctor Fielding has already assured me that she won't touch on any…sensitive matters."

"She has." Spock could see the captain's resolve, and that did not bode well. "I cannot believe that she would want me there."

"Starfleet wants you there."

"But Captain—"

Kirk cut in. "Mister Spock, I could order you to attend…but I'd rather not have to do that."

So it was over. Somehow, in the brief course of their conversation, the "favor" had come down to this. "Very well," Spock said, knowing that his irritation showed, and not caring. "But I assure you, Doctor Fielding will not be any more pleased than I."

Kirk gave him a tight, grim smile. "I'll take care of the doctor."

oooo

Lauren Fielding entered the transporter room and stopped short, appalled to find Spock awaiting her on the transport stage. She had thought he would at least have the good taste to beam down separately. She shot a look at her friend, Chief Rand, standing behind the control console. Jan's expression pretty much conveyed a similar dim view of the Vulcan. Lauren steeled herself. Avoiding Spock's eyes, she took her place on the farthest locus.

They beamed down together. As the transporter released Lauren, she experienced more than the usual twinge of nausea. Momentarily dizzy, she swayed, aware of Spock watching, holding himself back from touching her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

The question infuriated her. Shaking off the malaise, she stepped out into the busy lobby. It felt better when she moved around. She should have forced herself to eat more, but since the day she walked out on Spock, she had not felt like eating much of anything. And the thought of getting up in front of an audience of hundreds had robbed her of what little appetite she had left.

She searched out a lift that would carry her to the auditorium, and stepped inside. Spock and two others joined her. Three levels later the strangers exited the lift and she was alone with the Vulcan. Eyes forward, she took slow deep breaths and tried not to think of him standing on the other side of the little compartment, but every one of her senses screamed their awareness of his unwanted presence. She even felt him with her _mind._

The sudden sound of his voice startled her.

"I am sure that you are finding this most awkward," he said in a strained tone, "but I am doing my utmost to minimize the mental bond between us. It may comfort you to know that I will soon be gone."

She turned and stared at him. His eyes were fixed on the turbolift doors. "What are you talking about?" she said impatiently, realizing they were the first words she had spoken to him since their breakup.

"I am transferring off the Enterprise," he replied without looking at her.

Lauren felt a sudden deep ache and was glad when the lift came to a stop and the doors opened. _Of all the—_ Could it be? Was he trying to make her feel guilty because he's leaving? After what he had done? Sleeping or wide-awake, a hundred thousand times she had relived the cold, hard horror of those final moments of Spock's pon farr. Even now she saw him coming for her, full of rage and self-importance, coming to steal what she might have given him willingly had he only taken the trouble to seduce her. But he had not wanted to win her over. No, he had only wanted to bully her. Though he had reached the point of some gentleness and rationality, he had deliberately chosen to hurt her using all the physical and mental savagery of which he was capable.

Hoping to lose him in the crowd, she headed for the auditorium, but when she arrived he was still there, following at a discreet distance. She introduced herself to the program moderator, and with a professionalism Kirk would have admired, she introduced Spock as well, and they were ushered into a vacant waiting room backstage. The scheduling was running a little late. There would be a delay of several minutes.

Retreating to a corner of the room, Lauren sat down and closed her eyes and tried to think of her presentation. Her stomach churned at the thought of facing an audience, but she would rather have given a dozen speeches than have to stay here alone with that man, pretending she did not want to tear him to shreds for what he had done to her and their marriage.

 _…All she could think about was his face. The way it had looked, distorted with fury. The way his lips had moved, speaking words that cut into her. Then ripping his way into her mind, into her body. Heedless of her pain, even enjoying it…_

With a sudden intake of breath, she opened her eyes and looked around, heart pounding. She found him standing at the opposite end of the room, looking at a potted plant with a pale imitation of his usual curiosity. _Oh, he was doing some remembering of his own, alright. What was he feeling beneath that cool Vulcan façade? Did his memories of the assault give him some kind of perverted pleasure?_

No longer able to contain herself, Lauren rose up. He turned and looked straight at her. "I don't get it," she lashed out. "Are you _proud_ of what you did to me?"

Pain flickered across his face. "No. I am not proud of it."

"You've never even tried to apologize!"

Quietly he said, "Would it have made any difference?"

"Not to you, it seems!"

He frowned slightly, retreating into his thoughts for a moment. "Vulcans are a savage race. Violence was commonplace before Surak instituted the Great Reform. They were on the verge of destroying themselves." He paused, and Lauren could not believe that he was actually giving her a history lesson. "Now," he went on, "discipline holds such undesirable behavior in check…most of the time. As for me—"

"Is there a point to this?" she broke in.

He said, "If I apologize to you for what I did, then I must also apologize to you for what I am."

"In other words, you are what you are and you can't help it." Lauren's temper heated. "What you are, Commander S'chn T'gai, is a cold-blooded, arrogant creep!" He did not so much as flinch. "Tell me, where do you get the nerve to stand there and look me in the eye, after what you did?"

"You fail to understand," he said.

Lauren tossed up her hands. "Oh no, I don't think so. _You're_ the one who doesn't seem to understand. I'm _through_ with you—and no half-baked Vulcan excuse for an apology is ever going to change that!"

He actually stepped a little closer and said, "I was about to tell you that I do not know what it is to be fully Vulcan. My perspective is and always will be that of a half-Vulcan. Being partly human makes my control less certain."

"So _that's_ your excuse—those pesky _human_ parts did it. Well, I have news for you. That day I saw every part of you there was to see, and it was not a _rapturous_ sight." She made sure there was no mistaking the sarcasm.

.

His mouth tightened. Tears welled unexpectedly in his eyes. "I am sorry," he said very softly. "I am truly sorry."

She could see that he was actually sincere and perhaps that, more than anything, enraged her. _Did he really think it was that simple? Just say a word and she would forget everything? Humble himself a little and they would kiss and make up?_

Swiftly closing the distance between them, she drew back her arm and slapped him with all her strength. Then she walked out the door.

oooo

Spock sat onstage, to the left of the podium where Lauren was delivering her speech. His face no longer stung, but the slap's imprint of humiliation made him withdraw even further from their relationship. _Had she not wanted an apology? Yet when he gave her one, she forcefully rejected it._

Confused, he turned his head and looked at her. She had grown so wan and fragile-looking that he could clearly see the scattering of freckles over her nose. Yet she seemed even lovelier than the day they first met. Thinking of the love they had once shared, he wondered how he could have allowed his dark side to rise up and destroy something so precious to him. As he gazed at her, his thoughts drifted back to another dark episode—to the young ensign whose life he had taken on Mega Morbidus. Because of a Symbiant's role, they had not called it murder. But to Spock, the killing was very personal and disturbing. He could not forget the way Reesa Weller had cried out in her last moments.

Abruptly he pulled his thoughts from the dark spiral and focused on Lauren's words. The presentation was intelligent and well prepared, as usual with all her work. Yet he knew what it cost her to overcome her natural shyness and speak before a crowd. No, it was not easy for her. He noticed that she was not breathing properly. As he watched, he became aware that her level of physical distress was rapidly increasing beyond that of ordinary nervousness. He saw her hands grip the edges of the podium as if for support. Her head leaned forward. _Was she about to faint?_.

Lauren stumbled over a word and fell silent. Then she began to collapse.

Somehow Spock leaped from his chair and caught her before she hit the floor. As he lifted her into his arms, doctors of several species rose from the audience and began talking at once. Doctor McCoy left his seat in the front row and came onto the stage.

McCoy gave Lauren a quick glance and touched Spock on the elbow. "Can you carry her somewhere private?"

She felt so light in his arms that Spock could easily have carried her to the end of the galaxy, but a few short steps brought them to the waiting room. He gently positioned her on a sofa. She looked as white as death, but was still breathing.

"I believe she has suffered a syncopatic episode," he said as McCoy checked her with a medscanner.

"An astute diagnosis, Doctor." McCoy's expression was grim. "She hasn't been eating enough to keep an Ildaran moss-crawler alive." Looking ill at ease, he shut off the medscanner and faced Spock. "It's this…this separation of yours. Spock, I tried to warn her about what she'd face if she went to you in your condition. But she loved you too much to let you die."

Spock swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. On the sofa Lauren sighed and began to stir. Stepping back, he said, "Let her know that I…am finishing her presentation."

He returned to the stage. As he stepped to the podium, the audience took to their seats and linked back into their translators. "You will be pleased to hear," he began, "that Doctor Fielding is alright."

There was a general murmur of relief. A copy of Lauren's speech lay before Spock. After introducing himself, he read what little remained, then fielded questions about his cure. Under normal circumstances he would then have sought out new exhibits among the museum complexes of Memory Alpha, so that is precisely what he did, setting aside any nagging concerns until later.

oooo

Aboard the Enterprise, Lauren gratefully accepted Doctor McCoy's steadying hand as he helped her off the examination table. She still felt weak, but most of all she felt embarrassed. "I can't believe it," she said. "Passing out in front of all those highbrows."

McCoy made no comment. Quietly he said, "I'd like you to come into my office for a minute."

Reluctantly she followed the chief surgeon. It looked like she was in for a lecture about taking care of herself. Once inside, McCoy pointed her into a chair and opaqued the windows. Arms folded ominously, he stood over her.

"Laurie," he said, "I'm going to give you something for the nausea. You've got to try and eat more."

"I know," she agreed. "I just haven't been very hungry."

"Starving yourself won't help the situation—and as you well know, it could do a considerable amount of harm."

"I know," she repeated tiredly.

McCoy gave her a long, hard look. "Does _he_ know?"

Bewildered, Lauren stared at him. "Does _who_ know?"

"Spock," McCoy said with some exasperation. "Who else? A father has a right to know."

Lauren found herself hopelessly confused. "A father? Doctor, what in the world are you talking about?"

McCoy threw up his hands. "The baby, what else?"

 _"…Baby?"_ Slowly the connections came together in Lauren's mind and she came dangerously close to fainting again. "Are you saying that…that I'm _pregnant?"_

McCoy gaped at her in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you don't know?"

Somehow she shook her head.

"I just assumed…since you're a doctor…"

She shook her head again, forcefully this time. "Uh-uh, no, there has to be a mistake. This is impossible. I have the standard contraceptive implant. I'm just late, that's all."

"Let me see your arm." McCoy felt for the spot on her wrist. "The bead is there, alright. But it'll have to come out or it will harm the baby."

 _The baby._

Lauren drew in a slow, shuddering breath. "I can't believe this. I need to think. I want to be alone."

A sickening panic gripped her as the door closed behind McCoy. _Dear God, please…please let it be a mistake…_ She had never even thought much about having a child—and now, for it to be _his_ child!

Just now she would have hit him again, and gladly—not that the backstage slap had made her feel any better. Maybe it was the way he took it, without even trying to ward off the blow. Or the pain in his eyes that he hadn't even tried to disguise. Or the way he had accompanied her to the stage afterward, as courteous and respectful as if nothing had happened. He had even opened a door for her.

 _Why did he have to be like that? Why did he have to pretend as if that other part of him didn't even exist? Hadn't T'Beth tried to warn her? "His whole life is a lie"—his own daughter had said it. And now there was another little S'chn T'gai on the way._

Fighting a surge of nausea, Lauren went to McCoy's computer and called up the results of her examination. Her heart sank as she read the data. There was no mistake. She was pregnant with a boy—a male, like him. _Great. Just great._

Her voice shook as she ordered the computer to seek out every obscure bit of information on Vulcan reproduction. The pon farr triggered male fertility, but shouldn't contraceptives have prevented impregnation? The main computer had been downlinked to Memory Alpha's huge scientific library for any recent updates. Within a minute she found what she was looking for, and it was exactly as she had feared. Powerful pheromones released by a male in pon farr stimulated the female to ovulate. Certain contraceptives used by Vulcans could block this natural process, but they had not been used or tested by non-Vulcanoid species. It was unknown whether the standard human type of hormone regulators could withstand Vulcan pheromones.

Even as she read, an infuriating thought occurred to her. These matters, though new to the general medical community, would have long been known among Vulcans. Spock was raised as a Vulcan. Obviously he knew. So why had he never told her?

oooo

Spock walked into sickbay and finding Doctor McCoy bent over a tray of medications, said, "I trust Doctor Fielding has fully recovered."

McCoy kept his eyes on his work. "She's fine and dandy, but mad as hell. And she's looking for you, Spock."

It was not the sort of reply Spock had expected. He raised an eyebrow. "Have I done something new to offend her?"

The doctor paused to scribble a notation on a datapadd. "It's her place to tell you, not mine."

"I see." Spock could only assume that Lauren objected to him finishing her presentation at Memory Alpha. Perhaps it had been presumptuous, considering that she had barred him from the ongoing research project. In trying to assist her, he had only made matters worse.

He left sickbay. Perhaps Lauren's anger would cool by the time she found him. Meanwhile, there were no pressing matters aboard ship demanding his attention. The Enterprise was in stationary orbit, the majority of the crew on day's leave, enjoying the facilities below. Feeling a serious need for meditation, he turned toward the privacy of his cabin.

The instant his door opened, he knew. She was here—inside. His pulse leapt as if he actually believed she had come back for some other purpose than to confront him. Entering, he found her seated at his computer, her face hard and unforgiving. _As he had thought._ He immediately resumed the process of emotional withdrawal.

"Interesting," she said, "what one can find out if one really tries."

He tilted his head. "Is this about Memory Alpha? If so, I must apologize once again. I should have asked your permission before taking over your presentation."

"My _presentation?"_ Her blue eyes blazed. "Oh, I'm afraid it's a bit more serious than that."

Spock moved nearer, cautiously feeling along their bond for the source of her outrage. Her heart was as closed as his. "Please…enlighten me."

Sudden tears spilled down her face. She wiped at them angrily. "I'm talking about our son!"

"But we have no—" His voice broke off as the most likely meaning of her words struck him. _Her paleness, her lack of appetite, the way she had fainted—yes, taken together, those signs were all indicative of pregnancy in humans._ His emotional control slipped, almost collapsing completely as he absorbed all the implications. "A…son. How long have you known?"

"Not as long as you, I imagine."

"But you only now told me."

Looking ill, she leaned her elbows on the desk and lowered her head into her hands. "Oh, come on. You were in pon farr. We…mated— _you_ saw to that. It's a simple Vulcan equation. One plus one—equals three."

"Lauren." Spock stopped to collect himself. "The equation if not so simple as you seem to think. There are the variables of my human half, and your own humanness. And there have been no studies on the effectiveness of non-Vulcan contraceptives when used against Vulcan pheromones. In other words—"

"I know what it means!" she cried out.

To his dismay, she began to weep in earnest. "Please" he said, "don't."

She raised her head and glowered at him, eyes and nose reddened from crying. "What? I should be happy? Easy for _you_ to say! It isn't _your_ body, it isn't _your_ life!"

Spock rapidly considered. _A child—this changed everything._ "Yes, the pregnancy will pose many difficulties for you, but I am not a disinterested stranger." And he even dared to say, " I am the father of that child. I will provide what help I can."

"I don't want your help," she flared, "and I don't want your child."

It was understandable—and certainly best—that she reject him, but would she also reject their son? Might she actually terminate the pregnancy?

Carefully he said, "All of us carry our own share of dark impulses. For a time, I was unable to control mine…and I allowed that darkness to rise up and inflict unspeakable harm. But Lauren…I appeal to the goodness that I know is within you. Do not let anger toward me cloud your better judgment. The child you are carrying is innocent of any wrongdoing."

Her tears subsided, and as he looked into the anguished depths of her eyes, he saw a little lessening of the resistance she had thrown up against him.

"Fine then," her voice quavered. "I'll give the baby up for adoption. If you contest it, I'll bring criminal charges against you. Everyone will know what you did to me."

Spock made no effort to stop her as she walked from his cabin. The barbaric possessiveness of pon farr had brought on this crisis; he must guard against any behavior that she might interpret as confining and remember that he no longer had any claim on her. In the past he had made fine promises, only to break them. At this point he did not even trust himself. From now on, he must think only of the child.

oooo

Lauren entered the small cabin she shared with a fellow officer, and was glad that the lieutenant was on shore leave. Slipping off her uniform, she put on a robe and tried one of the anti-nausea lozenges McCoy had given her. Wearily she sank onto her bunk and stretched out.

Spock was right about one thing. She _did_ have her own dark places, but that did not make it any easier to deal with his. The darkness in her soul made her want to hurt him the same way he had hurt her. She felt it urging her to reject the only part of him over which she had complete control. _"Our son", she had called it. Why? Why had she_ _called it anything but Spock's son—a child of lust, a child of violence?_ It did not matter that she had spoken the words with sarcasm. Now that they were said, the idea was set in motion and she was thinking of the baby as hers, too.

It was just possible, wasn't it, that he could have her blue eyes and her fair, wavy hair? Wasn't there a chance that his ears would be round and human like hers? And he would laugh. He would cry. Even Vulcan children did that before the emotions were trained out of them—didn't they? Left to be himself, he would dig in the dirt and pull cats' tails and run around playing silly, pointless, illogical games.

Some place inside her softened at the thought. The mint-flavored lozenge melted in her mouth, ending her nausea. Sleepy, she closed her eyes. Dreams drifted behind her eyelids—golden sunlight glinting on ocean waves, and somewhere nearby, a child's laughter…


	2. Chapter 2

Several days had passed since Spock spoke to Lauren in his cabin. He had called over to her quarters one evening after the Enterprise left Memory Alpha, but her cabin-mate answered and said that Lauren was too tired to talk. Out of concern for her condition he devised a workable excuse to see her.

Spock found Lauren on duty in her lab and remained at a distance, just watching her for a moment. He was relieved to see her eating from a plate on her desk. Her color looked better, and though she did not appear to have gained any weight, she did not seem to have lost any, either. Carefully composing himself, he approached her.

Without looking up at him, she coolly said, "I wondered how long you were going to stand there."

"I thought you might need a fresh supply of my blood for your research," he told her, exactly as he had planned. "It has been nine weeks and three days since—"

"I _know_ how long it's been." She stared at her biocomp screen. "I know _exactly_ how long."

Spock waited, motionless.

At last she said, "Ask one of the nurses to draw some." As he was turning to leave, she added, "I need to talk to you. When would it be convenient?"

Surprised, he faced her. "This evening, 1900 hours."

She nodded. "Your quarters."

oooo

Spock tried to approach the meeting with no expectations. The fact that Lauren was speaking to him at all was more than he would have believed possible only a few days ago. As the appointed time neared, he prepared the cabin for her human comfort, then waited. The hour came and passed. Then five minutes. Then six more.

Lauren burst through the door suddenly, without bothering to sound the chime. Her step brisk, her eyes full of purpose, she confronted him as he rose from a chair.

"I'm thinking about raising the baby myself," she announced.

Relieved, Spock said, "That is good."

"I'd bring him up as a human."

"He would be fully three-quarters human," Spock noted.

Her chin rose. "I wouldn't give him a Vulcan name."

 _She_ was thinking. _She_ would raise him. _She_ would name him. Obviously Spock would play little if any part in the child's future. With a leaden heart he said, "That is sensible."

"It means I'd have to leave the Enterprise."

"Yes." At present there were no accommodations for children aboard Starfleet vessels. It was for that very reason that Spock was going to San Francisco. He said, "I will offer you any assistance I can, financial or—"

She coldly cut him off. "I've told you, I don't need your help."

"Of course," he agreed. "I realize that. But I have a responsibility to—"

"A responsibility…or a right?" she snapped. "For your information, you have neither—and I'll thank you to keep your hands off me _and_ this child."

Spock suppressed a swift stirring of anger. Now, of all times, he must remain calm. "I turned my back on T'Beth before she was even born. It is a mistake I will never make again. Lauren," he appealed to her, "I am not without feelings. You, more than anyone, know that."

Her eyes narrowed to blue flame. " _Feelings!_ Yes, you're right. I know all about your _feelings_ —firsthand." She pointed toward the door. "Right there, on the floor, you showed me exactly how you feel—" Her voice broke. Trembling, she turned aside and fought for composure.

Spock stood quietly remembering the shameful rage that had made him lash out like an animal.

Once more she looked at him, her hand beckoning. "Maybe you'd like to show me again. Now's your chance, it's just the two of us. Come on, and I'll send you to prison where you belong."

He remained as he was. "I have assured you that it will never happen again."

She gave a bitter laugh. "How can I believe that? I don't even know who you are, anymore. I don't even know why I came here. What I do with this baby is my business, not yours."

After Lauren walked out the door, Spock thought deeply about their conversation.

oooo

The following afternoon, Lauren received a summons from Captain Kirk. Spock had accused himself of serious charges and if she substantiated the claims he would be arrested immediately.

Lauren sat before Kirk's desk in a turmoil of emotion. _Spock—accusing himself of vile behavior—to his captain and his friend._ How easy it would be just to say, "Yes, it's true. He did it." So much for that ground assignment, so much for his career, so much for his relationship with his daughter. _He certainly deserved it. Didn't he? But why bring it on himself?_ She still understood him well enough to know the answer. And with that knowing, something in her heart shifted.

 _Integrity. Vulcan or human, it looked the same._

At last, finding her voice, she said, "Captain…I want you to disregard everything he told you."

Kirk looked very much relieved. "Everything."

"Yes." And with that single word she gave up all thought of legal revenge.

All that week Lauren actively avoided Spock and the confusion of feelings he aroused. Then, one evening, he came to her cabin door, but she did not invite him inside.

Standing in the corridor, he said, "My duties aboard the Enterprise are officially over. I am transferring to a flight that will carry me back to Earth. If you need me, I can be contacted through my personal phone, or through Starfleet Academy where I will be teaching." He paused and extended his right hand, palm upward. "I am sure you will want this."

Her eyes settled on the key she had once given him as a symbol of her trust. He was right. She no longer wanted him having access to her beach house. She wished she could scrub every memory of him from that place. Yet as she took the key, there was an undeniable pang of sorrow. _Why? He was finally leaving. Surely that's what she wanted._

"Goodbye then," she managed to say. The words sounded very cold.

His eyes looked black in the shadows. With startling directness he said, "You should have pressed charges."

"Well, I didn't," she replied without offering an explanation. Even she was not sure why.

"Lauren," he said, and nothing more. It was a moment before he added, "More than ever, I know you will be a good mother."

Lauren felt her cheeks flushing. Her hand pressed against the heaviness in her lower abdomen.

He asked, "Will you remain aboard ship for now?"

"My mother wants me to take leave and—" _But why was she telling him that?_ Spock's gaze held steady, as if waiting to hear more. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, she started to turn away, but some strange impulse stopped her and she revealed, "My brother Larry will jump to his own conclusions, but…I want you to know that I haven't told anyone what really happened…not even my mother."

"You continue to be kind," he said.

The words threw her into confusion. "I…I only meant…" _But what_ _had_ _she meant?_ One Vulcan eyebrow rose and deep in her heart something stirred, making her want to touch him. But the moment passed and as he walked away, she did not even wish him a safe journey.

oooo

Spock stood at the window of his faculty apartment and watched the late November wind blow leaves over the courtyard below. Another weekend, another tedious stretch of hours spent trying to comprehend what seemed forever beyond his understanding. Turning, he gazed at the source of his bewilderment. T'Beth was curled up on the sofa, reading a frivolous novel on her lap viewer. His daughter was seventeen now, and looked very much like a woman. Unfortunately her level of maturity did not match her appearance. Her attitude could be so cold and vicious that it worried him—a rather ironic situation considering that he was guilty of even worse behavior. But knowing that did not make T'Beth's dark moods any more tolerable. Even when he made a special effort to be gentle with her, she seldom responded positively.

But what had he expected—some hint of gratitude for reordering his career and taking a ground assignment? He had stayed away from her too long—many years too long. He could not hope to recapture so much lost time in the span of a few weekends.

The more failure he experienced with T'Beth, the more he longed to know his son once he was born and take an active role in his life.

"T'Beth," he said. She lowered her viewer and looked at him warily, as if anticipating some sort of reprimand. He told her, "You will not be able to come next weekend. I am leaving town."

"Leaving?" The arch of her eyebrow rose speculatively. "Where?"

"To New York City."

"Why?"

Spock gazed back out the window. He had not yet told T'Beth about the breakup of his marriage or that Lauren was now living in New York with her mother. She assumed Lauren was still aboard the Enterprise.

"Why are you going to New York?" she repeated.

He said, "I am seeing an acquaintance."

"Can I come along?" she asked eagerly. "I've never been there before. Maybe we could visit Lauren's mother. I like her."

"Perhaps…on another occasion." He turned in time to see the anger brewing in her hazel eyes.

"That's alright," she snapped. "It's a bore doing things with you, anyway. I'm glad I spend the weekdays with Aunt Doris. You treat me like a kid."

She had said it before and now he answered, "I see very little evidence that you are anything but a child."

Her angry eyes narrowed and she slammed down her viewer. "I'm seventeen! I don't see why I have to stay cooped up here every weekend while everyone else my age is out having a good time."

"I will not have you roam the streets," Spock countered.

"Roam the streets?" She rose to her feet, the very picture of wounded adolescent dignity. "Father, all I'm asking is to meet a friend, go out on a date or two. Things weren't even this strict on Vulcan."

"It was on Vulcan," Spock reminded her, "that you first began roaming the night, and promptly got yourself into trouble. Before I returned to Earth, you had started the same behavior here. I don't know what you did on those occasions when you disappeared, but I will not have it."

Her face went sullen. "If you'd just let me go out once in a while, I wouldn't have to sneak around."

"I suggest you forget about sneaking anywhere tonight. My ears are sharp, as you well know, and I sleep lightly when you are here."

Tears welled in her eyes. "You don't trust me."

"Should I?" He looked at her so intently that her façade of innocence began to crumble, and she turned aside. Mumbling something that he would rather not have heard, she stalked off to her bedroom and remained there.

 _Perhaps,_ Spock considered, _a separation next weekend would do them both good._

oooo

Lauren sat brooding at the window seat of her mother's Manhattan condominium. Four stories down, the pavement glistened under a light fall of snow.

"Is it sticking yet?" her mother asked.

Elizabeth Stemple Fielding came up beside her and looked for herself. "Ah," she said, resting a small, delicate hand on Lauren's shoulder. "It's a sign, don't you see? Stay home where it's safe and warm. If that man had one bit of consideration, he would never have asked you to go out in such weather—not in your condition."

Lauren tensed, as she did every time her mother got on the subject of Spock. "He didn't ask me to go out. He only asked to _see_ me. Going out was my idea."

"Why you want to see him at all is beyond me," Elizabeth went on. "That one is no good for you. He's a selfish, cold-hearted, domineering creature. I knew it from the first."

Lauren swung around and faced her. "You knew no such thing! Mother, you liked Spock."

Elizabeth raised her hands dramatically. "Oh Laurie, I was just making nice for your sake. You were in love—blind and deaf. Would you have listened to me?"

Lauren did not understand the burning anger she felt. Jumping up, she went to the closet and put on her coat. "I don't believe it," she said, shoving her shoes into over-boots. "You're only saying that now, because I left him. You don't even know _why_ I left him."

"See? So terrible a thing, you can't even speak of it. What would you have me tell you? That you should—heaven forbid—listen to his lies and go back for more of the same? Why, he isn't even human!"

"Yes, he is!" Lauren snapped, and opened the door.

Her mother followed her into the hallway. "Half human isn't the same! What are you doing? You're not actually going to meet that halfbreed, are you? He says one word and you come running?"

Lauren struggled to contain her temper. "Don't call him that—don't ever call him that, do you hear?"

It was better out on the sidewalk. The cold, brittle air stung her nose and exhaled into little puffs of vapor. Snow drifted around her as she walked beside the roadway where an occasional groundcar glided past.

She should not have lashed out at her mother. After all, she had thought the very same things at one time or another. Yet somehow it was jarring to hear the insults spoken by someone else. It always made her want to defend him, if only to prove to herself that her mother was wrong, as wrong as the voice whispering its warnings inside her own head. If only that inner voice could be escaped by just walking out a door. She could not help but hear it, not help but listen to the terrible, pragmatic things it had to say.

You haven't seen him since his last day aboard ship. Why start now? You have more sense than that. Have you forgotten what he did to you?

No, she had not forgotten. So what if he was in New York? So what if she had agreed to meet him? For the moment she would just walk along and do her best to enjoy the snowfall.

oooo

Spock had spent the better part of the morning at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, studying the exhibits. A steady stream of Saturday visitors had come and gone, most sparing little more than a curious glance at the solitary Vulcan in civilian garb. Once more he stopped and scanned the area where Lauren had arranged to meet him. Finding no sign of her, he was drawn back to a painting by Chagall on loan to the museum from a private collection. It was entitled "The Expulsion From Paradise", and the anguish of the main figures seemed to mirror his own continuing pain.

Apparently he had come to New York City for nothing. Lauren had changed her mind. She would not see him. Now that she had settled into the comfort of her mother's home, it was very likely that he would never see her again.

"Horrible," a woman spoke behind him, "isn't it?"

Spock turned quickly and found Lauren standing just out of reach. Her cheeks were flushed and her golden hair damp from melted snow.

"Horrible?" he wondered aloud.

"The painting," she explained. "Adam and Eve, the fall of mankind. It's so sad."

"Yes," he agreed, fully realizing that in doing so he admitted to knowing sadness. But she already knew that. His eyes went to Lauren's midsection, visible between the folds of her open coat.

Noticing, she said, "I'm starting to show…just a little. Pretty soon there'll be movement."

Their son, alive and moving. Spock briefly looked into Lauren's blue eyes. She glanced away, as if uncomfortable with even that much contact.

"You seem well," he said.

She nodded, and an awkward silence descended. Spock invited her to a snack area, where he bought her a cup of hot chocolate. Talking came easier with a table between them. He told her something of his weekdays at the academy where—among other things—he had written a curriculum for handling bridge errors, based on personal experiences.

"Your mistakes," she asked, "or those of others?"

"Both," he replied.

She took a sip of her chocolate. Then she said, "How very humbling. Is it some form of penance?"

Spock let the remark pass, and Lauren spoke of volunteering at a medical clinic in Brooklyn.

"Is that wise?" Spock asked, regretting the words immediately.

Lauren's lips pressed together in annoyance. "I'm a doctor, remember? I would know if something is likely to endanger my pregnancy."

"Naturally." Spock gathered his patience and tried again. "Have you found a satisfactory specialist here in New York?"

"No," she said with more sarcasm, "I've decided to deliver the baby myself. In fact, I think I'll just lie down and have him in the street."

Spock inwardly stiffened. "I did not mean to offend you. I suppose you would also be offended if I suggest, once again, that we enlist the services of T'Mira to dissolve our marital bond."

"Yes, you said that quite clearly over the phone. And I still don't like the idea of her fishing around in my mind."

"Very well," he said with a hint of asperity. "Whatever pleases you."

"Pleases me!" Lauren immediately lowered her voice. "Do you really think it pleases me that it's come down to this? Do you think it pleases me that you ruined our life together?" Tears flooded her eyes and her lip began to tremble. "Spock," she said barely above a whisper, but said no more.

Spock felt his emotions rising. Leaving the table, he strode through the museum and out the main door. Walking a short distance from the building, he stood alone in the snowstorm, fighting to contain the bitter feelings her words had aroused. After a time he heard someone approaching and knew she was there.

"We never seem to communicate anymore," she said sadly. "Every time we try to talk, even you end up sniping."

His eyes stung as he stared into the swirling whiteness of the storm. "Our marriage is clearly over. We should not see one another beyond what is absolutely necessary for the welfare of the child."

Lauren moved in front of him, but he could not bring himself to look at her. Not this near, knowing she would never come any closer.

Quietly she said, "So that's how you feel."

"It is not a matter of feeling," he insisted. "I am only speaking the truth. When the child comes—"

"Is that all you care about? The child?"

How could she ask such a thing? They were still bonded, husband and wife. They were meant to be as one, and the pain of their separation was difficult to suppress. As the silence stretched she reached out and grasped his hand. Astonished, Spock turned his head and gazed at her, his mind reeling from the bittersweet resonance of her emotions. A thick flurry of snowflakes floated down, sticking to their hair and clothing.

Abruptly she let go and disappeared into the storm.


	3. Chapter 3

Days passed before Lauren overcame her confusion and gave Spock a phone call. The fact that he had not answered her question outside the museum made it clear that he still cared for her, yet he held himself so aloof. He had said that their marriage was over and he wanted their bond dissolved, but when she touched his hand she could sense how deeply it affected him.

Her changeable feelings were another matter. Now, over the phone, she suggested that rather than keep apart, they should attempt to improve their relationship before the baby comes. Spock reluctantly agreed. Over the weeks that followed, they met at regular intervals. There was no more touching, but neither were there any serious arguments. Christmas came and went, and the new life within Lauren quickened and grew until she found the heaviness of her body becoming a burden.

She no longer told her mother when she was going to see Spock. She had heard all the tired objections. She would rather listen to the sounds of her own heart, and the way it warmed and beat faster each time she found him waiting under the Chagall. She had come to the conclusion that she still loved him. But what good was love without trust?

oooo

Spock sat before his computer screen, staring intently at the image of a young female ensign. Not that he would ever forget any detail of Reesa Weller's appearance, or the personal data in her Starfleet file, marked deceased.

A chill wind buffeted a half-open window across the room, carrying with it the scent of approaching rain. T'Beth had left the window open again. She was always leaving things open, or turned on, or carelessly strewing her belongings around his apartment. It was, he suspected, yet another form of youthful rebellion on her part—like the discordant, unsettling beat of the music coming from her room where she was supposed to be doing a school assignment. If this was any indication of her weekday study habits, no wonder her achievement was going downhill.

Shutting down the computer, Spock went to T'Beth's door and knocked. Of course she could not hear him. Overriding the privacy lock, he stepped inside and switched off her music.

Atop her bed, T'Beth tossed aside her datapadd and eyed him venomously. "I had that door locked!"

"Yes—and if your music was turned lower, you might have heard me knocking."

She sighed loudly. "What do you want? You told me to study—so I'm studying."

Spock looked at her for a long moment, reluctant to further upset the tenuous balance of their relationship. "T'Beth," he began carefully, "there are about to be some changes of which you should be aware."

T'Beth sat up and tucked her sock-covered feet under her.

"Lauren is coming back to California." Spock steeled himself. "However, she will not be living here."

T'Beth's eyes widened. "What?"

"She will be staying at her beach house down the coast."

"Not here with you?" she asked with all the bluntness of youth. "Why? What's going on?"

Spock revealed, "We…have found it necessary to separate."

T'Beth stared at him. "It's another woman, isn't it? The dark-haired one. I caught you looking at her picture one day. You blanked the computer screen in a hurry."

 _Ensign Weller._ Spock went to a window and looked out. The cloud cover had thickened. A fine mist of rain gusted against the glass. "No, T'Beth. That woman died…some time ago. This present matter is strictly between Lauren and myself." He turned toward her and found the girl waiting expectantly. "There is something I must tell you. Lauren is carrying a child. He will be your half-brother."

T'Beth's mouth fell open. Slowly the look of astonishment gave way to an unattractive smirk. "Oh, so _that's_ what it's all about. You got her pregnant, then walked out on her and the baby—just like you did with me."

Anger welled in Spock so suddenly that it almost escaped him in a violent way. Abruptly he retreated to the privacy of his bedroom and sat in a chair, fighting for control. He knew there was only one reason why T'Beth's words could affect him so profoundly—because they contained a bitter core of truth. It was a fact—he had deliberately walked out on her before she was born.

There was a tapping on his door. When he ignored it, T'Beth came in and stood stubbornly in the entrance. He did not dare look at her in his present state.

"Father," she said in a strange, thick voice.

He finally turned and found her eyes full of tears.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Slowly Spock stood, his anger dissipating. He, too, was sorry—with an aching burden of sorrow that spanned the entirety of his daughter's young life. He said, "I cannot excuse what I did to you. We have both lived with the consequences of my decision, have we not? But there is not a day that I don't regret it, however illogical regret may be."

T'Beth's gaze left his and slid to the floor. "I found out from McCoy why you left me to my grandmother—all the terrible things she told you. But I wish you hadn't gone. Things would have been so different."

Her eyes rose and Spock gave a silent nod of agreement.

She said, "You didn't leave Lauren because of the baby."

"No," Spock said, "and for the record, Lauren left me—and with good reason. I am telling you this because I do not want you to think ill of her."

T'Beth wiped at her tears and gave him a questioning look. "I don't get it. Lauren was crazy about you. What could have possibly happened?"

Spock said nothing.

"She hasn't been aboard the Enterprise for months," T'Beth surmised correctly. "She's been in New York with her mother. That's why you've been going there—that's why you didn't want me along. You're trying to win her back."

Spock denied it. "Full reconciliation is neither possible…nor advisable. But for the child's sake, we are attempting to be…amicable."

Predictably, T'Beth show no regret over the failed marriage, but her eyes took on a rare, dreamy look as she softly said, "I'm going to have a brother."

oooo

Lauren sat resting on the freshly swept porch of her beach house. It was pleasantly warm. The azure sky hung as brilliant as a jewel above the restless expanse of the Pacific Ocean. She was quite content just to drink in the familiar sights and sounds and scents while Spock and his daughter fetched the last of her boxed belongings from the beam-down area in the yard and carried them inside.

Helping had been Spock's idea and she had agreed to it, never expecting that he would bring T'Beth along. The girl had changed since Lauren last saw her, having filled out considerably, but what surprised Lauren most was the pleasant, eager way she was pitching in. T'Beth actually seemed to be enjoying herself. Perhaps last summer's volunteer work at Starfleet Medical Center had done her some good. Or was it the effect of having Spock at home? He was trying hard to be a good parent.

A sudden stirring drew Lauren's attention elsewhere. Smiling wistfully, she laid a hand on her growing belly. The baby was large, healthy, and kicked with the stubborn strength of a Missouri mule. With only six weeks more to go, she found her arms aching to hold him. _How could something conceived out of pain, tug so warmly at her heart?_

Spock came out on the porch, and sinking into a chair beside her, gave Lauren an appraising look. "I believe you have made a wise decision in coming here," he said low.

"So do I," she admitted. One more negative comment from her mother and Lauren might have slayed the woman. "Thank you for helping me move."

He merely nodded.

Turning from his dark eyes, she looked out over the ocean, losing herself in the sensual memories this place evoked. Here is where they had shared their first deep meld. Here is where they had come for a week of bonding after the wedding ceremony. And when she dreamed of their child, this is where he ran, laughing as he chased the surf.

T'Beth opened the screen door, and finding the two of them together, hesitated.

Spock stood. "Lauren, we are leaving now, but with your permission we will come back and visit. I find it rather worrisome that you are staying here alone. If there is any problem, at any time—please call me."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. With the passing of time, she dwelled less and less on the incident that drove them apart. There were moments—such as now—when she actually forgot. Out of old habit she almost reached for his hand and barely stopped herself. _Would he have answered her touch?_ Wondering, she watched Spock and T'Beth get into their skimmer. She saw the girl smile and say something to her father, then saw his eyebrow lift. It looked to Lauren as if they were sharing a good joke at her expense. And it hurt. All at once, her good will vanished like the ocean mist.

oooo

One Thursday night in the following month, Spock awoke suddenly. He had been dreaming, and though he could not recall any specific details, the experience had been both painful and alarming. As the sleep faded from his mind, he realized it had been something more than a nightmare. Not bothering to turn on a light, he went to the phone.

There was no answer at the beach house. Pulling on his clothes, he put in a second call, this time to Starfleet Medical Center. Lieutenant Commander Fielding had been admitted. She was in active labor.

Spock's heart began to race. Since moving back to California, Lauren had grown ever more distant. Now she had not even informed him of the impending birth. Should he go to her? He hesitated beside the phone before making his decision. Walking would have taken too long. He flew his skimmer to the hospital, all the while reminding himself that birthing was a natural process, that both Lauren and the baby seemed healthy. There was no cause for alarm, but despite the application of logic, a part of him wound tight at the thought of what was about to transpire.

Arriving, he went directly to the maternity unit and checked in at the main desk. Two nurses conferred in whispers before banishing him to a nearby waiting room. Spock sat near a nervous-looking human male and his thoughts drifted to the scene of his own birth as he had witnessed it last year in the eidetic images projected by Sybok aboard the Enterprise. Spock had not cared for the way Sarek remained aloof from his wife's travail, waiting impassively for the newborn to be handed to him by a female attendant. And now here he was, in a very similar situation...

"Captain Spock?"

He looked over and found a nurse crooking her finger at him. Wordlessly he followed her down the corridor to a private room where Lauren lay propped on a birthing bed. She appeared tired and tense, as if she would rather not be there, no matter how pleasant and homey the room had been made to appear.

"You did not call me," he observed.

"I never said that I would." Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. Biting her lip, she struggled for control. "Spock, I'm scared. Really scared."

That, he had not expected. His protective instinct aroused, he stepped closer and said, "I am here."

"Isn't this ridiculous?" She sniffled and wiped at her tears. "I'm a doctor, for heaven's sake."

"You are a woman," Spock said, "who is about to give birth for the first time. According to my research, some apprehension is natural."

She closed her eyes and shook her head, as if his words had somehow annoyed her. Then she looked at him and said, "I was thinking about something before you came. T'Beth's mother died when she was pregnant—right here—in this very hospital."

"Yes." There was no escaping the unpleasant memory. "But unlike Adrianna, you are in good health."

Abruptly her face contorted with pain. As the contraction took hold, he watched her focus on her breathing and try to relax. It did not look as if she was having very much success. The contraction passed and she lay back, catching her breath, her face damp with perspiration.

"You could ask for pain relief," Spock suggested.

"No," she said with admirable determination. "I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way."

Spock told her, "A Vulcan healer can ease the pain of birth through a mind touch."

Taking a damp cloth from a side table, she pressed it to her forehead and said, "Are you suggesting a meld?"

"A husband might attempt such a joining…but considering our circumstances, that would be inadvisable." Distancing himself from her physically and emotionally, he sat in a chair. And waited.

Before long she uttered a little moan of discomfort, and then the contraction began in earnest. White-faced, she closed her eyes and struggled against the pain. Spock stood. It was difficult watching her suffer. He pictured himself reaching out, touching his fingertips to her face and initiating the process of mental contact. He could almost feel her pain slashing through him, and how he would welcome it and gently interpose a calming sense of peace.

Gradually she relaxed and when it was over, her eyes settled on him. "What are you looking at?" she snapped.

Taken aback he said, "Perhaps…I should wait elsewhere."

"Big help you are," she muttered, reaching for ice water. "Get on out, if you can't take it."

Spock did not know whether to leave or stay. "What," he asked, "would you have me do?"

"You're asking me? Don't you always do exactly what you want?"

Spock gave serious thought to the accusation. "I believe you know that is not true. You are overwrought."

She glowered at him and he sat down and for a time nothing more was said.

A doctor arrived to examine her. Spock left the room and wandered down a corridor, to the infant nursery. Several newborns lay swaddled in bassinets. Some slept quietly while others cried out in loud, distressing voices. It was difficult for Spock to visualize the swelling in Lauren's belly as a fully formed child such as these. Lauren's loose maternity clothing had always hidden any sign of the baby's movement, and she had never invited him to feel the usual kicks and stirrings. As he gazed through the nursery window, he wondered if she would let him touch their son once he was born.

Spock heard footsteps in the corridor and turned to find the graying, middle-aged woman who had examined Lauren.

"Captain Spock?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Commander Janet Carlson, your wife's obstetrician."

"Yes, Doctor."

"I just wanted to tell you that Lauren's labor is progressing just fine, no problems in sight." She paused. "According to the records, you're half human—correct?"

"That is right," Spock said.

"Interesting," mused the doctor. "A month or so back I ran a genetic scan on the boy, but you probably know that already. His brain shows some Vulcan characteristics, and he has your dark hair."

Lauren had not told Spock of the scan or its results. He said, "My wife had been hoping for blond hair and blue eyes."

Carlson smiled. "Well, at least she got the eyes right."

oooo

The contractions were coming closer together now, and seemed more intense. Doctor Carlson had said she almost fully dilated. Lauren lay back, trying to rest and calm herself in the brief intervals between sieges. The bulk of the baby made it difficult to breathe. She felt on the verge of hyperventilating.

 _Where was Spock? Why hadn't come back?_

Fighting tears, she rang for the nurse and asked her to page him. Spock appeared a few minutes later, looking so placid that her temper flared once again. "Where have you _been_ ," she cried.

For some reason her question seemed to throw him off guard. After a pause he said, "I took the liberty of calling your mother."

"You _what?_ " But then a contraction caught her and she used her anger to help ride it out. At last she was able to gasp, "Why couldn't you have asked me first? Oh my God—I can just imagine what she must have said to you!"

"We had a pleasant conversation," Spock said levelly.

" _Pleasant?_ " Lauren said in disbelief.

"She said she would be here shortly."

" _Here?_ " Lauren lay back and moaned. "Why, oh why did you go and do that? Why, why, _why?_ "

Spock was silent for a long moment. Looking downright forlorn he said, "I thought you would find your mother's presence…reassuring."

Lauren sighed and closed her eyes. "You don't understand. All I wanted to do was have my baby in peace." Then she felt her uterine muscles tightening again. Reaching out to Spock, she said, "Come here."

Though he hesitated, his hand finally closed over hers. It seemed that she was crushing his fingers, but he did not appear to mind. She tried not to think about the personal feelings her touch might reveal to him—just now all that mattered was having him near. When it was over she said, "Well, we'll just deal with Mother when she gets here, but don't expect her to be gracious. What about your parents? Have you told them the baby's coming?"

Spock withdrew his hand and said, "I have not."

Lauren got an odd feeling. "They _do_ know I'm pregnant—don't they?"

He gave no answer.

"They do know we separated?"

Spock moved to the foot of the bed. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "My messages to them have not touched on personal issues. I likewise suggested to T'Beth that she not discuss certain details, even to Aunt Doris…as a matter of Vulcan privacy."

Lauren stared at him, realizing for the first time just how profoundly embarrassing he must be finding the whole situation. "Let me get this right. Amanda and Sarek are about to have a grandchild they don't even know about?"

Spock's reply was slow in coming. "It was never my intention to…deceive them."

The start of another contraction sent pain lancing into Lauren's back. Suddenly an alarm sounded on the infant monitor above the bed. Spock glanced at the monitor before meeting her eyes, and for an instant time seemed to stop. Then the baby kicked hard against the confining muscles and everything went back into motion.

Nurses burst in and took over the room, clearing away everything they considered nonessential, including Spock. There followed a brisk, professional exam by her obstetrician. Then, the dreaded words.

"We have a problem."

oooo

Spock refused to pace about the waiting room like a jittery human. Standing motionless, he gazed out at the first light of dawn and handled his inner tension with methods he had learned as a child and later relearned on Mount Seleya. The medical procedure would not take long. Modern caesareans were routinely done, with excellent outcomes; mother and child should suffer no ill effects. Still, it was unfortunate that Lauren was unable to deliver the child naturally, as she had wanted.

A set of brisk, light footsteps entered the waiting area.

"There you are, Spock."

Turning, he stiffened at the sight of Lauren's mother. No longer sure what to expect from her, he said, "Mrs. Fielding. I trust your trip was uneventful."

"No so uneventful here, I see. What's this? They're doing a caesarean?"

"Yes," Spock confirmed. "The umbilical cord became dangerously compressed. A vaginal delivery would have been unsafe."

"What a shame," she said, her blue eyes moist with sympathy. She sank into a chair. "But she'll be fine, I know it. Come here, Spock, sit beside me. We have a lot of catching up to do."

It felt awkward taking a seat beside the mother of his estranged wife. At the wedding reception he had promised Elizabeth Fielding that he would never do anything to harm her daughter. Only a few months later he had broken that promise—brutally. "Mrs. Fielding," he began, "I do not know how much Lauren has said…"

She interrupted. "Call me Elizabeth, please. As for Lauren, her mouth is closed tight as a clam. But don't worry, it will all work out. That girl is still crazy about you—all winter long I saw the signs of it. Even so, it took some working to get her back here in California where she belongs."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "She told me she was tired of New York."

She laughed—a pleasant, joyful sound. " _I'm_ the one who tired her! And none too soon. I was beginning to run out of bad things to say about you."

Spock's eyebrow edged higher. "Reverse psychology?"

Her eyes glittered wickedly. "You won't let her know, will you? I'm supposed to be hating you—at least for a little while longer."

Now Spock understood Lauren's distress at the thought of her mother coming, and the situation took on a whole new significance. Surely Lauren would not want to deal with any discord today, but was there another element to her concern? A desire to shield him from her mother's wrath? The thought made him distinctly uneasy. He had occasionally sensed a growing tenderness in Lauren, but had never encouraged it. In time they would consult the healer T'Mira and have their bond dissolved. Lauren would be free of him and go on to marry someone more suitable.

Spock studied Lauren's mother. Chronologically, they were very close to the same age, but while she was beginning to grow old, Spock had just entered into the long middle age of Vulcans. He looked young enough to be her son. "Elizabeth," he said, "I want you to know that your daughter has good reason to be angry with me. I told you I would never hurt her, but I did. And it is not a hurt that can be glossed over by gifts and fine words. Our marriage is over."

Her face saddened. "But we all make mistakes. She must realize that."

Remembering, Spock turned his face to the dawn. He was silent a moment before he said, "Some mistakes are best left unforgiven."

oooo

Lauren awoke from the anesthesia field gradually, rising layer by layer to a drowsy state of consciousness. Blinking against the light, she found a stranger smiling down at her.

"That's it—wake up," the nurse said kindly. "Don't you want to hold your little son?"

Dreamlike images swam through Lauren's head. _A surgical room, the sound of a newborn's cry, a brief glance at something bluish and greasy..._

She struggled to sit upright and winced in pain.

"Wait," the nurse warned, helping her get comfortable against the pillows. "The incision closed very nicely, but you're going to be a little sore for a couple of days. Just take it slow."

Lauren's mind came into focus. She was in an ordinary hospital room, only beside her bed there was a baby sleeping in a transparent bassinet. The nurse gently picked up the bundled infant and placed it in her arms.

Lauren looked down on her son's perfect little features and her heart melted with tenderness. His ears were round enough to be considered human, the delicate scattering of brows only slightly arched. But in the set of his eyes she saw Spock. Glad of it, she kissed his dark, fuzzy hair lightly, and he squirmed and made a face.

The door opened. Spock and Lauren's mother entered together, neither of them bleeding openly. As the nurse left, Spock hung back while Mother rushed forward and made a fuss over her and the baby.

"Oh, isn't he adorable? I saw him in the nursery. Just look at that precious little face. Thank God, he takes after the human side!"

"Mother!" Lauren hissed.

"Now settle down," Elizabeth crooned, "or you'll upset the little darling."

But the little darling was already well on his way to being upset. Grimacing, he waved his tiny fists and let out a squall that soon escalated into a full-fledged tantrum.

Elizabeth reached for him. "Here, Laurie, why don't you let me—"

"No." Lauren held him firmly. "Please, Mother, I want to be alone with Spock—just for a while. Okay?"

Elizabeth raked Spock with her eyes. "Alright. Why not? I'll just go stand out in the hallway. Never mind that I came 3000 miles to see my first and only grandchild…"

The door closed behind her, and Lauren found herself trying to calm nine pounds of red-faced indignation. Spock approached the bed. It seemed to Lauren that he was repressing some sort of amusement, and since she was feeling rather inadequate just then, she took it as an affront to her maternal competence. "Well, if you think you're such an expert," she said tartly, " _you_ try and calm him down."

Spock's eyes settled on his son and abruptly went serious.

"Well?" Lauren prompted.

She held out the thrashing infant, expecting Spock to make some excuse and back away, as she once saw him do with another baby. Instead, he slowly reached out and gathered his son awkwardly into his arms. Lauren resisted an urge to rearrange the baby, and given a moment, Spock managed to right things on his own. Gazing into his son's face, he jiggled his arms a little, and the baby's cries began to subside.

Very gently, Spock spoke to him. "You are angry, aren't you? It is not easy being born."

The baby's fist found its way into a pink, toothless mouth and he sucked at it noisily. The room grew still. Spock had actually calmed him, and Lauren's heart warmed at the sight. She watched, breathless, as Spock tilted his head and studied the tiny inscription on their son's identity bracelet. His eyes widened.

Clearly stunned, he looked at Lauren. "S'chn T'gai? But—"

"You're his father," she said. The baby lost his fist and began to fuss loudly. "Bring him here—I think I know what he wants."

Spock sat beside her on the bed and carefully handed over their son. Lauren opened the front of her gown and put the newborn to her breast. Instantly he ceased his fussing and latched on with painful vigor. Still feeling a bit groggy, Lauren closed her eyes. After a time she dozed off, and later woke to find Spock gone and the baby sleeping soundly in the bassinet.

oooo

Flowers filled the hospital room. Spock felt their pollen working on his nose the moment he cracked open the door. Seeing that Lauren had awakened, he entered, carrying at his side the huge, flat, rectangular gift left behind by her mother—obviously a piece of art.

Lauren looked lovely against the pillows as she gave him a sweet, drowsy smile. Her golden hair had been freshly brushed, and as always several short, unruly strands curled about her face. Nestled beside her, the baby breathed so softly in his slumber that Spock could barely detect the sound.

Leaving Elizabeth's gift near the door, he walked over to the bed. Quietly he said, "I went to the academy to arrange matters for the day. It took longer than I had anticipated."

Lauren gestured at the bank of floral arrangements taking over the room. "I can see the word's out. Some are from your colleagues at the academy, some from people I've worked with here in the research department. And there's one from your Aunt Doris, too."

"Yes, I called her," Spock said. "T'Beth will be here after school."

"You made her go to school?" Lauren sounded shocked.

"She is doing poorly in a couple of her classes," Spock explained. "I do not see what difference a few hours will make."

"Spock," she said with some impatience, "this is her brother here. It _will_ make a difference, believe me. This was not the time to be enforcing discipline."

Spock tried to consider the matter from a strictly human point of view. He remembered how quiet T'Beth had been, as if she were holding back tears. Perhaps he had been too inflexible. Then and there he decided. "I will go pick her up in a while."

"Good," Lauren said. "What's that big package you brought in?"

"Something from your mother. She had to go back to New York for the day, but she wanted you to have it before you went home from the hospital."

The parcel was awkward to carry. Spock balanced it on the edge of the bed while Lauren detached the card. She frowned. "That's odd. It's made out to both of us." And she read aloud, " 'They weren't exactly innocent, either—but they went out and built a world together'." Her frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Perhaps," Spock said, "the meaning will come clear once I open it."

Lauren cast a nervous glance at the sleeping infant, then gave Spock a nod. He carefully unfastened an outer layer of gift-wrap. As he peeled off a second layer of protective material, Lauren froze, staring at the side hidden from Spock's view.

"What is it?" he asked.

Since she did not seem inclined to answer, he swung the frame around and came face to face with Adam and Eve fleeing paradise.

"The Chagall," he said with some surprise. Surely not the original that had been hanging in the New York museum. "A fine copy."

Lauren shook her head. "No, Spock. Not a copy. It was on loan to the museum from the Sanger collection. My great-grandmother was Edith Sanger. That collection belongs to my mother now. I…I probably should have told you."

Spock propped the painting securely atop a chest of drawers, then moved back by Lauren and studied the anguished figures painted by the Russian-born artist almost four centuries earlier. The words in the card echoed in his mind. Now he understood their meaning, but there would be no world built by him and Lauren.

Lauren patted the bed beside her and Spock sat on the indicated spot. Taking their son into her arms, she smiled down at the sleepy newborn and said, "I've decided on a name."

Spock waited.

"Simon," she said. "Simon Spock S'chn T'gai."

His family name came out sounding like Su-kin-Tu-guy, which was about as well as any non-Vulcan, his mother included, could ever hope to pronounce it. But it was the other names that captured his attention. "Simon," he spoke, and found it agreeable. As for _Spock_ …!

"Simon is a human name," Lauren said, "but Vulcan, too." Eyes shining, she glanced up at him. "What do you think?"

"I think," he said bluntly, "that naming him Spock is most inappropriate."

The light in her eyes faded away. Sudden tears welled and averting her face, she said, "You'll never forgive me, will you?"

Spock stared at her in disbelief. "Forgive… _you?_ "

"I can't help thinking that…a Vulcan woman would have stayed with you that day…she wouldn't have gone for the door."

"Surely you are not blaming yourself."

"Why not?" she flared, facing him squarely. " _You_ take on the blame for everything."

Spock watched their newborn son stir in her arms and considered how very fragile a thing was trust. "Earlier," he admitted, "I stood over you as you slept and was tempted to wipe the terrible memory of that day from your mind. I did that once, long ago, to Jim Kirk—and he still does not know. So you see how easily I could betray you again."

"Oh yes," Lauren said with some asperity, "and maybe murder me like Reesa Weller? This isn't about Kirk—or Weller. It's about _us_."

Spock leaned over, elbows on knees, and stared at the floor. Lauren's hand touched his back. There was no stopping the painfully sweet surge of mental contact that swept its way along their bond. If only she would agree to sever it…

"Spock," she said softly.

With all his heart he longed to take her into his arms and put the past behind them. But he abruptly rose, breaking the contact so he could think clearly.

"Spock," she repeated, and this time he turned and looked at her as she said, "You are _the_ most aggravating man I have ever known. I have no idea why I love you…but despite everything…I still do."

So it was as he had feared—she was ready to forgive him, but he could not forgive himself. "Unwise," he said with painful effort. And he explained, "I have come to the conclusion that I am inherently flawed and should never bond with any woman. I simply _cannot be trusted_."

Clearly it was not the response for which she had hoped, but it was the only reply he could offer her. The room was ominously still, and then she said, "No bond. No wife. Then tell me this. If the pon farr comes again, what will you do?

"I lived many years unbonded. If my Time should come again, I will die."

Lauren's eyes flashed. Looking down at the sleepy infant in her arms, she said, "Did you hear that? Your father would rather die than be my husband. You see, he's _inherently flawed_ —not born _perfect_ like the rest of us. So chances are, he'll be gone before you grow up—but at least you'll have his name. _That's_ something."

Battling his emotions, Spock complained, "Already you would turn the child against me. How typically human."

"Good grief," she said, "as if he understands a word!"

They were arguing yet again. It was clearly best that he withdraw for now. He was almost to the door when it opened. Aunt Doris walked in with T'Beth at her side, still clothed in a school uniform.

"Oh Spock, I hope you don't mind, "Doris said. "I was coming into town anyway, and she _so_ wanted to see the baby."

T'Beth's eyes silently challenged him, but he merely remarked, "I would have picked her up myself."

"Of course," T'Beth mumbled so very low that only he heard it.

Doris cast a smile toward Lauren as she told him, "My, but you and T'Beth certainly kept _this_ quiet. Is that the Vulcan way?"

"The Vulcan way is one of privacy," Spock answered evasively.

Taking leave of them, he headed out into the corridor. As he began walking, it occurred to him that he had better send off a quick notification to Vulcan. Now that Doris knew of the baby, she would waste no time getting a com to her sister—with ample photos of Simon attached. Spock's mother and father would be stunned. And it would not be long before Amanda boarded a starliner, expecting a pleasant visit with her grandson…in a home where Spock lived with his wife like any normal couple.

With each new unpleasant thought, Spock's steps slowed. Should he tell his parents outright? _My marriage is finished. We no longer live as husband and wife. We have not lived together in months._

Would his mother then ask, "How many months?" And he would feel obliged to answer her. And she would start counting the months backward and forward from Simon's birth. And then she would surmise what had happened—that he had entered pon farr and returned without a wife. _Utterly mortifying._ No—for now he would merely announce his son's arrival, answer any questions with care, and see how events unfolded. After all, one never knew what the future might bring.


End file.
